


If Wishes Were Horses

by Copperonthetongue



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Author sucks spectacularly at tagging, Cersei Hates Dany, Cersei Introspective, Cersei loves beautiful things, F/M, Jealousy, Jon Snow is majestic AF, Motives and Regret, POV Cersei, POV Female Character, POV First Person, Ruthless!Cersei, Wishful Thinking, horrible ideas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 03:14:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13285773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copperonthetongue/pseuds/Copperonthetongue
Summary: Cersei looks at Jon Snow and it feels as if Ned Stark has risen from the grave to stare at her with those sad eyes all over again.





	If Wishes Were Horses

It hurts her to look at him. 

Jon Snow. More accurately, Jon Stark. It feels ridiculous even in the privacy of her own mind to call him anything but what he is, social convention and tradition be damned. He is a Stark, right down to the cold, glacier kissed marrow of his very bones, and it shows in every part of him. It is as if Ned Stark has risen from his cold grave to stare at her once more with those sad eyes of his. The boy looks upon her with the same haunting gaze that cut her to the bone that day in the garden. With the darkening bruise Robert had given her glowing on her cheek and her eyes full of defiance, Ned Stark had none the less sliced all her masks and lies away like cobwebs, leaving only Cersei behind to face him and not the Queen she had become out of need, desperation and diamond hard resolve.

 

That very same implacable certainty and serene resignation is shining like a sun in the boy’s eyes as he faces her now, calm and solemn as he upends her world around her with his words just as his father had, so long ago. Scattering all her carefully laid plans like a cyvasse board tipped carelessly to the ground by a clumsy hand. His uncanny stillness burrows itself inside her, making her guts twist uneasily in dread. If Jon Snow is here, it is not to trick her. There is no subterfuge at play that he is aware of. He would never be party to such a thing, Which is not to say that he could not be an unknowing pawn in another player’s game. However, it is not a game he is aware of, of that she is quite certain. Even the tiny babe in her carefully hidden belly senses it, the danger that they are in and her fear and it sets to twisting and shifting uncomfortably within her, making her gorge rise. It is only by sheer force of will that she doesn’t empty her stomach then and there in front of everyone. 

 

The creature he had shown them had well and truly set the cat amongst the pigeons proverbially speaking. The lot of them were flustered and unsettled by what they had seen, even those who had already known what was in that accursed box. The dragons, the dead, and in her particular case the ghosts of her own mistakes all accumulated into a tide of fear and misery that felt as if it would drown her with it’s strength and yet somehow the Stark boy stood tall, a still, unshakable island in the middle of the raging river of ambition and hunger and fear that surged around them all. She deeply wished she knew how he managed it. 

 

Winter is in his eyes as he gazes at her and she fancies she can almost taste the chill of it, smell the snow and ice in the air the closer he moves to her. Yet, even without all that, she would still have been shaken by him, for she is equally moved by the fact that he is here at all and is, it seems, willing to face her and speak with her reasonably regardless of what has gone before. Despite how he must despise her for what she and her family have done to his own. The boy still speaks with her as a he would a Queen, and the way he addresses her makes his words cut all the deeper. He, her enemy treats her with a dignity many of her own allies cannot seem to manage. 

 

Jon bloody, bedamned, thrice cursed son of seven devils, STARK appears to be the only man alive in Westeros who doesn’t question her queenship. He looks at her and she knows that her sex doesn’t lessen her in any way in his mind. He hates her, oh yes he does, she can see it right there in those expressive, lovely eyes of his. Smoldering like a banked fire …yet while he may hate her, he does not hate her for being a woman who dares to wield power, or for her wealth and family name. The Stark boy hates her purely for her deeds, and unlike his father she knows he will not underestimate her will to survive, or to triumph over her enemies. She is a threat, and he will treat her just the same as he would any dangerous, powerful enemy, ….and paradoxically that warms something inside her she cannot seems to quite give name to.

 

It baffles her that somehow, even after all that she has done to his family he can bring himself to stand before her and ask her face to face for her help. How can he bear to seek her aide in any way after all that has passed between his kin and hers? The strength of will such a thing must take is terrifying to contemplate. Almost impossible to imagine.

Yet here he is. Tall and strong and solemn as the grey, rocky mountains of the Westerlands …and somehow that mountain has moved for HER. He has come to her as Queen, to ask for something only a monarch can give. He asks her to rule. He EXPECTS her to rule and do what is best for all and not simply herself and that faith in her general capability as a leader shakes her plans to their foundations. Not even Jaime has that sort of faith in her ability. Her own brother, her lover, and still she can see the doubt in his eyes when he thinks she isn’t looking. Yet there is none in the Stark boy’s eyes as he waits for her decision. She wants to help him. Seven curse it all, but she does. She suddenly and genuinely wants to be the Queen he so clearly expects her to be. That feeling takes hold of her with a ferocity that sears her bones like fire. She wants to be the woman she sees reflected in his eyes. Just once. 

She is powerfully reminded of the last day she had truly seen his father, that fateful day in the garden long before the steps of Baelor. Before things had gone so terribly awry, and long before everything she touched began to fall apart. Every plan and enemy conquered after Ned Stark’s death had only brought two more following right behind to replace them. That execution is the one thing she wishes she could go back in time and undo. Not simply in the name of practicality but also because regardlesss of what Jaime or anyone else might think… she still saw those solemn Northern eyes staring at her in her dreams. Ned Stark’s ghost haunted her, and not even the return of his bones to Winterfell had bought her any peace. She suspected nothing ever would again. 

 

Ned Stark had somehow not hated her what she’d done to his friend, and when she’d so defiantly admitted the truth to him in the garden that day, daring him to judge her for loving Jaime when he was the only person she'd had, the other half of her soul…. Eddard Stark had not been repulsed by what they were to one another. He had also not despised her children for what they were, either; through no fault of their own and he had wanted to protect them from Robert’s fury at her deception regardless of their blood or legitimacy. He had wanted to shield her and her children from Robert, from his dearest friend. It had touched her, and deeply so…as few things had in longer than she could remember but mercy was a weakness that regardless of her wealth she well knew she could not afford. She would not risk her children’s lives. Not for anyone or anything. Ned Stark would be handled. Quickly and cleanly. 

Despite that necessity, it was the first time in her life she had ever stood before another person simply as herself. Free of the lies and games that were so integral to her survival at court and as Queen. The dizzying sensation of freedom had been breathtaking. In memory of that precious feeling and his care for her children she had tried to spare him, she had thought everything had been managed, that all was in place to put a careful, peaceful end to the entire matter….. and then Joffrey had destroyed all her plans in one fell swoop, like a child knocking over a carefully constructed block castle simply because he COULD. Purely for the reckless joy of destruction for its own sake. She hadn’t even seen it coming. She should have. She had been so blind when it came to Joffrey. 

Now Ned Stark’s last living son stands before her, asking her to be the Queen she was born to be. There is a decision before her, a fork in the road and almost without realizing it ..she makes her choice. She will rise to the occasion. She will put aside her plans. Euron Greyjoy will indeed fetch back the Golden Company as planned….but they will fight the dead, not the living. She will abide by the alliance and the terms they set. If she can remove the North and it’s support from the equation she will have a better chance against the Dragon Queen once the dead are no longer a threat. The war will bleed the girl, it will wear her down and make her vulnerable. She’s already lost one dragon somehow. She would never come with only two if she still had three, Cersei would wager her life on it. 

 

Daenerys Targaryen is NOT invincible, regardless of Jaime’s cowardice. All she needs is the Stark boy’s word. Had it been the son of any other man she would have laughed at the very idea of such an alliance, for any reason at all. up to and including the dead rising to murder them all in their beds. It would be like baring her throat for the knife like a sheep instead of fighting like the Lion she is. It would not be so with Jon Snow. If he gave her his word, he would keep it. The winds could howl and the snow could blow and the dead could rise up and kill them all but Jon Snow would keep his word, regardless. She knew it as surely as sunrise follows sunset. He would never betray her if he was bound by oath. He might hate her with all his heart but treachery wasn’t in his making, and HIS oath she could trust without hesitation. He was a Stark, through and through.

 

The Dragon Bitch has made her point and is well aware of it. So Cersei makes her own offer, lays it out before them like the gift it is and enjoys the shock on Jaime’s face, and on the silver haired whore’s as well. Her gaze however lingers on the boy, as he struggles with the decision before him. She knows what it means. So does he. If he gives his word, the war between the North and South will end. The Starks and the Lannisters will fight no more. He will never have his vengeance for the destruction of his House. It is a great deal to sacrifice, were it her standing in his place she knew she could not make it. 

She watches him wrestle his own conscience and she waits, waits and prays that the Stark boy will give his oath. She wants it. She wants it so desperately it makes her feel cold inside. _‘ Don’t make me kill you.’_ She thinks to herself as she watches the conflict flicker over his handsome face. The longer he takes the more uneasy she grows and dread begins to bloom in her gut like a malignant, black flower. 

 

_‘Don’t make me do this again, Stark.’ ,_ She howls in the silence of her own mind. _‘Bend the knee, you stubborn bloody idiot, if you will only make the oath, it can end. Do not make me break you. There are enough dead Starks. Let me have this. Give this to me, lovely boy and I will be merciful. Let me show you that I CAN be merciful, if only you would let me.’_ she wants to shake him. The longer he is silent the more her hope fades. 

His next words shatter her plans all over again and the frustration that surges within her makes her want to start shrieking and never stop. She clenches her fists so hard she knows she’s drawn blood as she fights to control herself and the raging fury that coils and snarls inside her like a rabid beast. _'Why? Why must they do this to me? /_ she thinks, bitterly. _‘ Why must it always be the stick instead of the carrot?’_ She looks at the Stark boy again and even with her heart so full of fury it still twists painfully at the misery on his handsome face and she suddenly realizes that unlike his father, if he could, he would have taken her bargain.

 

It is an unexpected balm, for the wound of his rejection. He would have done it, had he not already oathbound himself to the Dragon Bitch. Yet regardless of her fury his answer was precisely the reason she would have taken his word to begin with. Even when lying would have wiser, more expedient, …he had not forsaken his honor and he’d given her the bitter truth when a sweet lie would have been better for he and his allies both. She could see the pure rage in his companions at his honesty, at his refusal to sink to their level. Especially Tyrion, who looked as if he might die of frustrated fury. If she had not already liked the boy she would have favored him for that alone. _You mad, noble, beautiful creature. You impossible thing. Why must I always be forced to be cruel instead of kind?,'_ the futility of it all made her want to weep. _Why must I destroy that which I covet most?_ None of it mattered, however. Her wants. her hopes. It was all ashes and dust. She would do what she must as she always had. ‘ _So be it._ she mused bitterly. _Clegane was right. The Gods really are cunts.’_

 

As she walked away from them, from all of them, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have the loyalty of such a man as Stark for herself. All that strength, that will for her, for her family alone. What would it feel like to know that there was at least one person who would never waver at your back? Whose honor was unquestionable and who could be trusted with anything and everything. For a mad moment she wishes that instead of choosing the Wall and the Black Brotherhood as his refuge that it had been instead the Kingsguard that he had sought, Robert would have been delighted had Ned Stark asked it of him. The boy was young but he could have been trained. Jaime could have trained him. 

The image that suddenly comes to her mind makes a hot fist of desire twist within her, the boy with his ice pale skin and dark hair, matched against her sweet Jaime, whole and perfect and golden..shirtless as they strived to best one another with the blades. Her brother would have laughed and tousled his hair when he lost, and the boy would have been mortified and stubborn, never giving in and always striving to be better than he was the last time. Ser Jon Snow, Knight of the Kingsguard. It was a pretty fantasy. 

 

It would have killed him in the end of course, she knew it all too well. Joffrey would have destroyed him, one way or another. The Stark boy would never have been able to endure as his sister had. Her clever little dove may have been a salted thorn in her side, and a worry that had grated on her while she had been in Kings Landing, but now when she thinks of her there is only a strange sort of pride. She hadn’t killed Joffrey, the last of her senseless hate had died with the knowledge that it had been Olenna who had murdered her boy. 

 

She should have kept Sansa. The girl had done nothing but what she had been bidden to do, and when disaster had occurred she had even been wise enough to survive Cersei’s wrath. The girl she had been before Kings Landing would have died then and there. Sansa Stark may have come out of Catelyn Stark’s womb, but it is Cersei whose hands have shaped her into the woman she has become. There is a curious pride in that for her.

 

She would have been a perfect bride for her too gentle Tommen. If they had been wed and if her little dove’s brother had been Kingsguard to her younger son, he would still be alive. He would never have fallen as he had with Ned Stark’s son on watch, not with his support. With perhaps his friendship. She would never even have needed to do what she had done at the Sept at all if not for Olenna….and if he had been with Myrcella in Dorne, Cersei had no doubt in her mind that her precious daughter would still be alive, or worse coming to worst he would have at the very least had the decency to be dead at her side, either defending her or avenging her murder. He would not have failed her as Jaime had, not while there was breath in his body.

 

‘If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.’ her mother used to tell her, when she asked for something she could not have for some reason or other. She could wish all she liked that things were different, but they were what they were and she must act accordingly. Perhaps, when it was all said and done and should the boy survive, she would keep him. A caged dire wolf is not half so impressive as a tame one, but the beauty remains none the less…and after all, Qyburn and his arts were improving in leaps and bounds as he practiced. 

 

Perhaps she would have her tame wolf after all.


End file.
